The Girl
by three-squee-gree
Summary: Howard's been behaving strangely. Vince is having weird dreams. Something's not right. Howince. Story up for adoption.
1. Intro

**Hi. I've been nosing about the Boosh section for a while and have only just got my own account, started reviewing people's work and got to work on my own fic. I've had this idea for a while, it's a bit weird, and I know other characters can be really annoying, which is why this focuses on Vince more than her. It could be alright, but it could be TERRIBLE. Inspired by Alice in Wonderland and other weird stuff...**

--

_Vince knows he's dreaming. There is detail around him, but not enough. It's blurred, like an impression of his surroundings. Like one of his paintings. He hasn't painted for a while. Shame really. He's in his and Howard's room, but it's a dream. He turns toward the window. Nothing. Just blackness, pressing against the glass, which has no reflection. He turns around. He feels nothing, yet he manages to get to the door without difficulty. But when he does open the door, there is nothing but a brick wall there. Apparently his dream is situated here tonight. Vince turns around to the wall next to Howard's bed. Except Howard's bed isn't there, and the wall is completely covered with television screens, about eighteen of them; the old fashioned kind with the glass screens that buzz and give you electric shocks. Most of the screens are fuzzy, but every now and then moving images flash onto one of them. Vince focuses harder when the next one comes up, and to his surprise it's him and Howard at the Zooniverse. It's the day he arrived; all excited about everything Howard had told him about it, and his hair's got blond bits in it and then he's bouncing about trying to hold Howard's hand and then-… The screen buzzes off again. Then another sharp buzz comes up on another screen and it's him screaming stuff at Howard in a drunken rage. He's got makeup and tears running down his face; "Y-you just stop t-talkin' Howard! You just-…" The screen buzzes off again, and then another one appears and it's him and Howard kissing…_

_Somebody coughs. Vince freezes. There is a sofa in front of the screens. He doesn't remember it being there. For some reason it makes his blood run cold. He knows there's someone sitting on it, but they're too low down for him to see. Then he sees a hand rise up, and he gets a glimpse of a golden bracelet with a half moon shape on it._

_"Don't mind me," says an empty voice, and then the person clicks their fingers…_

Vince wakes up with a start. But not with a finish. Not until the next time he falls asleep which won't be for some time. He has sweat dripping down his forehead like he's just run a mile. The bed sheets are stuck to him and he grimaces, peels them away from himself like a second skin then lies back down again. He is cold now, but that's to be expected and he needs to relax himself. He nearly cries out with fright when he hears a loud sigh. But it's only Howard; finally back from his jazz night; breathing softly in an ungraceful position across his bed. The bed's barely big enough for him without his limbs spread eagled all over the place. It was funny, he never used to stay that long at Lester Corncrake's but it seemed that jazz could keep them both going until about four in the morning; later even than Vince's own nights out. "In fact," thinks Vince, "Howard's been coming home late for nearly four nights in a row."

And yet although Howard's always tired when he arrives back home, he is only ever tipsy and seems very happy with whatever he's been doing. When Vince himself stumbles in he is usually hammered, with makeup smeared all over his face and his hair in a mess, only to wake up the next day with a screaming hangover. Although it's really his brain cell that does the screaming. Not the hangover itself. Jerk-off.

Vince shivers as he remembers the dream. That image of himself screaming at Howard. He never used to let himself get like that; he'd always had an alcohol limit so that he'd remain looking as beautiful throughout the rest of the night. He'd even had one year where he'd been ill and couldn't take alcohol, and Howard had teased him at first for being a weakling, but overall treated him like something precious.

That had been a while ago, when things were a bit different. Or a lot different. They don't work in a zoo anymore and fun, friendly conversations and crimps are getting fewer and fewer.

Vince rolls over onto his side to look at Howard properly. Howard looks younger when he's asleep. His face relaxes and Vince wonders whether Howard's awake frown is deliberate. It would be like Howard to do that; perhaps copying some actor who is 'sexily grumpy'. Now who on earth said that?

Since the equally embarrassing 'Windy Blast Fast' incident and Vince's expanding head, things are way worse between them. Well, technically it had been that stupid party that had set things off. Bouncy castles, jazzy chicks and Old Gregg had made a distraction for a while, but things really weren't okay between them after that. They don't really have conversations anymore; they just find more excuses to snap at each other.

But it isn't just that. Vince has always seen Howard as more than a best friend. Because Howard was always there. Most kids grow out of friendships, but he and Howard have stuck through it all. Vince had got it into his head, "No matter what I do or how I change Howard will still be here. I need him and he's always going to need me to get him out of trouble."

But trouble isn't really finding them at the moment. In fact it is really just squishing their relationship into the mud and adding some spit for good measure.

Howard shifts in his sleep, sighing again, and his face begins to frown lightly. His dreams must be bothering him.

Vince feels his insides twist in guilt. Just two weeks ago Howard found out that once again Vince had deliberately left him off a guest list, and at the time he hadn't really had the time to care about Howard's reaction. He'd mumbled to Bollo; "Just tell him there's no tickets left again, yeah?"

But when Howard did find out he hadn't even put on his pathetic act of "That's fine I'm okay really, I'll just stand moping around pouting at you and making jabs at you until you say sorry then we'll be okay again."

He'd done nothing. Vince had done his drunken; "I'm SO sorry Howard, but that's the way it works!"

Howard just stared at him until he'd finished and then said softly, "It's okay. I get you." Then he'd retreated to his room, and hadn't said another word. _I get you. You._

Since then Howard has barely spoken to him. He stays around him to run the shop, occasionally cook and watch TV, is cold but not exactly unfriendly and hasn't once made any sly comments about Vince's latest fashion change. He still helps with things when asked by him, Bollo or Naboo, but he won't try to make any comebacks to them if they commented on his eyes or moustache. Even Bob Fossil hasn't gotten a "Yeah? Well your suit's too small!" out of him. Fossil left looking down, but not before adding "Note to self: I don't like these socks." into his talk-box.

And now this week Howard's been going out. Vince feels too stubborn to give in and ask him where and what he's been doing, he'd just assumed it was to Lester Corncrake's. Now he's not so sure. An evening of jazz always brings a very distinctive look of bliss to Howard's face. Whilst the past few nights he's certainly been happy, it just isn't the same kind of happiness as a night of two old jazz lunatics doing whatever they did best.

--

**I know it's short... just let me know if you want it to go any further. X**


	2. Strange Happenings

**Hello! Thanks for the reviews, I was really nervous about posting this. I will warn you now that from this point there will be a bit of language.. nothing terrible though. But, yeah. Wanna get things set straight.**

_--_

The next day at about five o'clock in the afternoon Vince decides it's time to go back to the flat and redo his makeup and hair for his evening out. Or night out. Early-in-the-morning-hammered out. Whatever, really.

As Vince (once again wearing shoes that could potentially make Vivienne Westwood blush) totters his way toward the Nabootique, sucking on a giant lollipop his mind happily processes everything going on around him. He likes the mist that is surrounding the city; it makes it look like the dry ice they use on stage or in clubs. Vince hasn't performed on stage with Howard for a while. _Shame_.

It's freezing outside and Vince knows he should _not _be wearing these shoes, but he'd really been looking forward to walking past the same girls continuously to show them off. He'd attracted quite a crowd at Topshop. _Don't you always?_

As he gets closer to the shop, two brunette girls walk out holding Nabootique bags. Wonder of wonders, Howard's managed to sell something. The girls walk towards Vince, winking at him and giggling, and Vince gives them a sticky grin in return. A couple of seconds later a blond woman walks out of the shop, but she walks in the opposite direction and doesn't see Vince. The electro ponce stands still with his lips still on his lollipop. She's wearing a _genius _coat. It looks Victorian; very long but with a little waist and shaped. He could get one of his own and alter it to fit him. And customize. He hates being the same. _Why do you try so hard then? Twat._

Vince tries to call out to her to ask where she got it, but it's at this point he realises his lips have frozen onto his lollipop. _Well that's just beautiful_.

He forgets all about the blond girl and totters into the shop tugging uselessly at the sweet. He stumbles past Howard to get upstairs, ignoring the "Are you alright?"

Vince kicks off his shoes and knocks frantically on Naboo's door.

"Come in," says a bored sounding voice.

Vince pushes open the door to the unfamiliar sight of Naboo with a lot of books and papers surrounding him. Something must be up.

"What's 'appening Vince?" says the shaman.

"Mmmph."

"I see. Sit down; I'll get you somethin' hot."

Naboo approaches with what looks like a miniature hot water bottle.

"Keep that on it 'til it's completely unfrozen, if you don't you'll rip your lips off."

The shaman turns back around to flip through the pages of another book, ignoring Vince's whimper of fear.

After about ten minutes Vince gently pulls the lollipop away from his mouth, leaving a sticky trail of sugar down his chin. Vince rushes out of the room and into the bathroom to clean his face and neck up.

Another half an hour later Vince returns to Naboo's room straightening his hair. Naboo hasn't moved at all which isn't very odd, except he's not stoned. Naboo looks up at Vince when he crosses the room.

"Vince?"

"Yeah Naboo?" Vince always tries to use Naboo's mirror. It's the biggest in the flat and… it's got shiny stuff around it.

"Where the 'ell are your straighteners plugged in?"

"In the livin' room; they've got an extendible lead, how magic's that?"

"Right. Did you _see_ Howard?"

"Not exactly, but he's down there if you want 'im."

"No I meant… never mind."

So… somethin' up?"

"Mmm?"

"You've got loads of books an' stuff out… and you 'aven't even smoked regular tobacco today. Bollo's lookin' stuff up on the internet… I just figured, somethin's goin' on," says Vince, looking at Naboo in the mirror, and then looking back at his own reflection. Reflection Vince is really very attractive.

"Well, accordin' to the Board of Shaman there's been a disturbance in the structure of our universe. It's nothin' major that we know of. Could just be your average disturbance where random stuff falls through-…"

"Like last week where I fell through the mirror again?"

"Don't interrupt. Yeah, sort of like that, 'cept that's a permanent link 'cause I set it up on my mirror, and also nothin' can get out of the mirror unless I summon it back. But as I was sayin' the Board of Shaman reckons it's a little bit more. And I've got to be on the lookout for anythin' unusual… More unusual than usual."

"What kind of weird stuff?" Vince head butts the mirror gently.

"Stop that… like, telekinesis… y'know, objects movin' by themselves _in non-magical areas_ so don't worry about the stationary, or any other psychic energy really. I'm just lookin' for more clues. It's probably not that bad, even if it is somethin' magic but… always gotta be prepared."

"Wicked. Well I've gotta get ready to go out now, so I'll see ya later alright?" Vince walks out without waiting for a reply, although Naboo isn't listening anyway, so he's not offended.

--

As it turns out, Vince really does only have an evening out. He arrives back at eleven thirty to his disgust, but because he barely slept last night, he really needs a break. Vince makes his way up stairs and is surprised to see a light on. Howard's having a night in too. Vince is a little tipsy. And tired. But he wants Howard. He wants _to see _Howard, that is. He hasn't even looked at Howard since last night. He'd missed him when he went out the second time. He's not sure where Howard _was_ the second time.

Howard's doing the dishes, his back to Vince unaware of his presence. Suddenly Vince hesitates. He hasn't had a proper conversation with Howard for ages. Vince stands there trying to figure out how to speak _without_ insulting his… friend. _Yes Vince, your friend._

"…Howard?" Vince asks shyly, not wanting to scare him.

Howard starts slightly, turns around and it's _Vince_ who jumps. No really. About three feet in the air.

Howard's moustache is gone. It's not there. At all. And not in the sense that it's developed a personality of its own called Brian and crawled off Howard's face. Howard Moon has shaved. That should not be so. This isn't right.

"Howard! What 'appened?" Vince asks fearfully, grabbing a copy of the Global Explorer (Cheekbone's too precious) and holding it in front of him like a shield.

"What? What's wrong?" Howard seems as confused as him.

Vince makes a gesture with his hand over his own top lip.

"Oh. Oh! Yeah… I just… felt like a change. It's okay, really it is." Howard reaches out; trying to pat Vince on the shoulder, but Vince begins to back away.

"You'd _never _just shave it off! What 'appened to _bringin' it back in?_ I knew it was a lost cause but…" Vince topples over onto the sofa and looks up fearfully as Howard advances with a concerned look on his face. Vince hasn't felt this afraid since Howard first showed him that _thing _he used to have on his chest. _Good times._

"Well… a friend of mine just suggested it; they just told me I looked a bit like this actor and… are you sure you're okay, Vince?"

Vince leaps up; "No! I'm not, Howard! You've 'ad that moustache for…ever! And no matter what _I_, your best mate 'as to say about it makes a difference, but then bloody _Lester Cornflake-…"_

"Corncrake."

"…WHATEVER! When 'e _suggests _you get change it, you go in like a steamroller, like, a really fast one, without even askin' my opinion!" Vince finishes with his bottom lip wobbling; still slightly swollen from the lollipop that was stuck to it.

Howard sees this and realises he's got to be gentle. "Vince… I didn't think it would be so important to you… after-…"

"Yeah well _nothin's _too important to me is it Howard? God _everythin's _about YOU innit?"

"It… it wasn't Lester who said that. It was my other friend, her…"

"HER?" Vince begins stomping towards their room "Oh yeah, whatever Howard. I 'appen to know that outside of this flat you've only got that old jazzer and your family, and even if you did 'ave another _friend_ it would be a bloke or an old, transsexual SEA MONSTER!" He slams the door violently, breaking the glass containing one of his own paintings.

Howard's completely shaken up. He barely expected Vince to _notice. _Let alone care. He's angry now, too. There's only one person who's going to listen to him. He grabs his coat, pausing briefly when he looks at the shattered glass on the floor.

"No," he thinks "Vince has to start cleaning up after himself. He needs to learn."

He makes his way downstairs and outside. He stops after checking the shops locked and looks up at one of the windows. For a split second he thinks he sees a pale face with big blue eyes scowling back at him.

"Bollo will probably clean it up for him anyway."

--

Vince ducks down when he sees Howard look up at him. _Feel awful now don't you? Jerk-off._

He throws himself onto his bed. Then falls off again. Except that totally doesn't happen. He is a person of grace.

Even he doesn't know why he feels so upset. It's not that Howard looks bad. Really, he doesn't. He's a big, strong, handsome man. _…Some would say. Not you. No, really._

But… the moustache was… not exactly part of him. But it sort of was. It was his mocha stain. _Don't be mockin' his mocha. Great times._

Maybe… maybe he's sad… because someone else could convince him to do something that Vince couldn't himself. _Gonna kill Lester Cornfuckingflake._

Slowly, Vince's eyes drift shut...

_It's the dream again. Same place. But so vivid. So way more vivid than any other dream. The televisions buzz, though there's nothing on them. No one's here. Vince cautiously peers over the sofa. No one. But on there's a note:_

"_Can't help yourself, can you?"_

_--_

**Sorry if this seems a bit rushed... I sort of wanted to keep up with the pace of the show... you know, situations changing from one thing to another really fast. or maybe I'm just lazy. You decide, I'm too lazy.**

**OMG I shaved Howard HOW COULD I!? But it's all relevant to the plot. And there must be angst. Angst teaches us stuff. God I'm knackered. Please review! **


	3. The Girl

**Chapter 3! This chapter's a bit boring, I'm afraid. And there's more angst. Inspired by Life on Mars.**

_--_

_The dream. Again. Whoever's been leaving the notes isn't here right now. No more notes. Vince sits on the sofa which already has a dent in it. So someone _was _here. There's a little table next to the sofa now; wasn't here before. On the table is a telephone, the old fashioned kind with the curly wires. Vince likes these phones. This phone's got a rotating dialling system, too. Genius. Except there's only one number on there. One. Vince picks up the handset and twiddles the dial all the way round then lets it spin back and hit the number. He hears one end of a conversation, but the noise is fuzzy and he can't identify the voice._

"_It was all part of your plan wasn't it? …The thing is… it's like… I don't know, maybe I'm being selfish, but it seems like _he's_ just the one who's changed. But I dunno, maybe it's both of us. I just, looking back, he's changed y'know? It used to be-…"_

"Vince!"

Vince groans, pushing himself up from his bed. Through hazy vision he can see his pillow is a mess of mascara, glitter, creases and drool.

"Vince, get up you ball-bag!"

_Naboo. That's Naboo's voice. This is your right leg, Vince. That's your foot. Use it to stand up. Now the other one. Good boy._

"'Right with you, Naboo," Vince croaks as best he can. He shakes and mentally congratulates himself for kicking his boots off the night before as he stumbles out of the room, across the living room and into the bathroom.

His pillow has left crease marks across his left cheek which will take a while to fade. He really is a mess.

It's been two days since Vince found out Howard had shaved his moustache. Howard had apparently rung and asked Naboo for a couple of days off and did not return from wherever he'd stalked off to. He's here today though, sitting behind the shop counter reading what looks like a very long, very boring book. No pictures; how can he stand it?

Vince is a bit nervous as he sits down opposite him. He mumbles a hello, which Howard returns with a reassuring smile. Howard's let some stubble grow now, which is terribly distracting… and has he cut his hair a bit shorter as well? Someone else convinced him… What has Vince done to deserve this? _It's always about YOU… I get you. You._

Howard's not even cross with him about their last argument. _Vince, say sorry to him you idiot. Say sorry, even if he's forgiven you. Let him know you're mature as well. _

Vince is just about to open his mouth, when someone enters the shop. Both he and Howard turn their heads. It's the girl with the nice coat. The one who he just missed a few days ago. In a couple of seconds he makes an assessment of her appearance. His first thought is Marilyn Monroe. Because her hair really is white blond, and even styled the 50's way… she's even got the much darker, groomed eyebrows. She's of average height, quite a big girl, with a very fitted charcoal grey work outfit on underneath her coat which is unbuttoned.

As she gets closer, Vince sees she has very dark eyes, and at first thinks of Naboo, but then thinks they might be a little lighter than that. And when she's right in front of him and Howard, Vince can't place her age. At all. She could be anywhere between eighteen and thirty-five. But no. He's honestly not sure. She could be quite a plain looking girl without makeup.

Vince fully expects her to go to him. All the customers instantly seek out Vince Noir's service over Howard's. He places his hands on his hips, flips his hair. But he gets the surprise of a lifetime when she turns away from him and says: "Hello Howard."

Howard looks just as surprised as Vince, except this is apparently because he didn't expect to see her here.

"…Hi! Erm… this, this is Vince," says Howard, awkwardly gesturing at Vince as if to say "He's the one you want! Look how pretty!"

When the girl looks into Vince's eyes, he feels extremely uncomfortable, like when he sits down too fast in one of his jumpsuits.

"Hello. Pleased to meet you," she says it without much emotion. But she doesn't look like she _isn't_ pleased. It's just like she's making an assessment of him.

"Hi…" Vince finally gets out. _Smooth._

"I was just wondering if you're still up for tonight, Howard. I know you're a bit tired and everything… but if you are…" She says with a very faint smile that looks just a little bit sad. Her voice is quite deep, and has a pleasant, soft quality to it.

"Yeah, of course. Actually if you're interested…" Howard walks around the counter and guides the girl over to the dreaded jazz section. But surprisingly, she looks genuinely interested. Vince doesn't catch the rest of their conversation, because another man and woman enter the shop. While Vince serves them, he glances over at Howard and the girl, who are now engaged in deep conversation. Howard doesn't seem nervous around her at all now. In fact he looks like he's even putting in some banter. He's making little jazzy motions and she giggles and pretends to be annoyed. He's almost like himself again.

The girl leaves at the same time with the man and woman, touching Howard's shoulder affectionately with another small smile.

"What was that?" Vince demands the second Howard's back behind the counter.

Howard looks just a little insulted at Vince's choice of words. "My friend, I met her last week when... I was out," he looks a little shifty now.

"What day?" Vince sounds like a five year old. _You are... mentally._

"Thursday night… after you'd come back from the new Goth club."

Vince paused then. He honestly had no idea what had happened that night. He'd come back stinking drunk, and the next morning even Bollo was slightly cold towards him.

"And… are you two…?"

Howard's eyes widen "Oh no! No, we're just friends. She likes jazz, you see and-…"

"Right," Vince cuts in. He doesn't know why he's feeling so upset right now. _You bloody do. He's found someone._

"You alright?" Howard looks a little nervous, like he's expecting another outburst.

"Yeah, yeah. It's just, why didn't you tell me about her?"

"I don't know," says Howard, looking like he really doesn't, "she just never really came into conversation much." _There hasn't been much conversation for her to anyway._

Vince's eyes go a little wider than usual "Was she the one who said you should shave…?" he makes a motion over his top lip.

"Yeah."

"Right."

The rest of the day goes by quickly and neither of them speak another word to each other. Howard thinks about Vince, and Vince thinks about Howard. And _her. _It's only when Howard finally locks up and ascends the stairs that Vince realises he hasn't even thought to ask the girl's name.

--

Vince doesn't go out that night. Howard does. Makes a change. Vince isn't quite sure what to do with himself. He's not done this for a while. Bollo tells him: "There's pizza in fridge. Stay outta trouble."

_Again _with the trouble. Trouble's not here. And Naboo should be the one telling him to stay out of things. Not Bollo, never Bollo.

Vince watches TV. Boring. Boring, boring, boring. He writes it on his arm over and over again. It wouldn't be boring if Howard was here. Together they'd make the boring shows funny by mocking them. Or Howard would be watching it and Vince would mock him, and then they'd have a right laugh and do some crimping. In their vests and pants. And have satsuma fights. In their vests and pants. _Good times._

Howard says this girl's just a friend. She can convince Howard to shave when Vince can't. She likes jazz. She's pretty. She's sexy. She makes Howard smile and scat. They get some banter going. _Bet you fifty Euros they are married by the end of this week._

She's almost the complete opposite of Vince. Vince only realises this when he looks in the mirror to take his makeup off. _Totally not checking yourself out._

Vince isn't a tall man but is compared to her height. Her features are rounded. Vince's are all angles. She's blond. He's dark. She's got brown eyes, he's got blue. She's quiet, he's loud. She's jazz, he's electro. She's a woman, he's a man. Her hair's curly, his is straight. She's curvy, he's skinny.

--

_The dream. Again? Vince dials the number again. One. Fuzzy noise… then:_

"…_the bad stuff happened to me. But it was okay. It was embarrassing, but it was okay. 'Cause he'd cheer me up, and then we just went back to normal. People didn't used to even _see _me half the time. He' d be the centre of attention… but now… people see me and it's humiliating and it's just _horrible_. Bad stuff's been happening to him now, and people don't appreciate him as he really is anymore. Only if he's trying to be one of them, he's not…"_

_There's a note by the telephone:_

"_I shouldn't be letting you hear this."_

_--_

**I wish I could write Howard better, but it's even harder when he's not being himself. I hope Vince is okay, too.**


	4. Disks

**Chapter 4! This idea really keeps coming back to me... I don't usually write this much in this amount of time, even in exams which is baaaad. **

--

_The phone rings. Vince picks up the handset and listens:_

"…_like that. E's always been special... but in his own way, you know? And people loved that about him. I don't know where all this came from. Sometimes I think I should just walk out, and I want to say I hate him. But I can't! It feels wrong and I'll never-…"_

_The conversation is cut off, and a depressing drone replaces it. Vince puts the handset back down. He turns to his left. There's a new door tonight. Next to the one that in real life leads to the living room. It's quite small and narrow. Like it's made for him. Vince doesn't remember standing up, but suddenly he's in front of the door and he reaches down to turn the handle. Then pauses. On the handle there's a note tied to it. It's from _them:

"_Don't bother. Even I couldn't get in here. Look under the sofa."_

_Vince is in front of the sofa. He bends down and reaches under. He pulls out two boxes. One is bright pink and glitters in the dark of the room. There's detail on this box. The other is black, but not a Goth kind of black. Not like his glossy hair black. It's a nasty, dirty black. He opens both at once. They're full of disks. The pink one, somehow Vince knows this isn't what he needs, but the disks catch the light and are labelled. He glimpses two; "Tundra parts 1&3" and "First school day & Howard"._

_In the black box there's another note:_

"_The key might be somewhere in here. But it won't be as easy as that. You understand."_

_Vince empties out the black box, and hurriedly searches for a key, but just as he expected, it's not there. Vince knows what he needs to do and which disk he needs. As he searches through the disks his guilt rises. He sees so many things: "J. Punk part 1 - broken record", "Eels & graffiti", "Howard's party & bouncy castle" and "New club without Howard"._

_Eventually he finds what he wants: "Thursday – unknown"._

_He finds the DVD player in the wall next to the new door. He puts the disk in, and the image appears on the centre TV but it's fuzzy. He sees himself go out… drink… snog… vomit… stumbling home-…"_

_The picture cuts out, and the screen goes completely fuzzy with the rest of them. Vince takes out the DVD and sees that it's burnt… almost blistering like flesh burnt by straighteners._

_Vince makes a quick decision. The other disks are already stored away. He finds a pen and paper in his pocket and writes: "_It's broken. I can't remember._"_

_He leaves the note and disk by the telephone..._

Vince wakes up shivering. And his face is wet… he's crying. _Fucking baby. Scared of a dream._

"Vince?"

Vince jumps and turns over. Howard's sat up in bed. In the darkness Howard looks even more alien without the moustache. _I'm the dark side of the Moon. Ha!_

"Hi," says Vince, hastily running a hand over his face.

"Bad dream?" Howard's shrimp eyes are twinkling kindly at him. They look down again like he's embarrassed. Vince wants to get into Howard's bed. _You fucking baby._

"Yeah… well, they're more… _weird_ than anythin' else. Like, they make sense… sort of. Like a jigsaw puzzle." _Baaaaaaaaby._

Howard looks back up at Vince sharply as soon as he hears 'they're'. "They're not," he clears his throat "not threatening to you in any way, are they?"

Vince frowns. "No… not really." He doesn't really want Howard to know about them.

"Good," says Howard shifting uncomfortably.

"Did you have a good night out?" Vince changes the subject quickly.

"Yeah, yeah I did thanks. It was a good laugh."

Vince feels terrible then. 'Good laughs' were what he and Howard should be having. _Your own fault you little tit._

"Well, um. Good night," Howard says softly, lying back down again against his pillows.

"Yeah, night." _So awkward. It shouldn't be so._

Vince suddenly realises he's forgotten to ask the girl's name again, and turns back around to ask, but Howard's fallen fast asleep already. _Damn._

_...The dream again. Two times in one night which is odd. The disk and Vince's note are gone. But there's a new one:_

"_Name the three who can."_

_Vince writes underneath:_

"Bollo. Howard. Naboo._"_

_The phone rings, and Vince would have jumped if he was awake. He listens again:_

"…_feel that way. He's special. You know how I feel. I can't say it."_

_--_

The next night Vince performs with a pop band. To be honest, the band's awful, but the crowd go wild anyway because it's Vince Noir. The band will be famous because they got to perform with _him_. Then everyone will forget about them. Apart from the drummer, because he gets a lot better and grows a goatee that becomes more famous than himself and gets its own show, but that's another story for another time.

Vince doesn't stick around afterwards; instead he wraps his thickest coat around him, escapes from the screaming crowd and heads out into the dark streets, and makes towards Lester Corncrake's. He doesn't go in, but peers through the windows. Howard's in there with Lester. And _her. _She's wearing a long, but fitted red dress today, looking tanned and healthy. They've all got a glass of red wine. _They're grown ups, Vince. Vincey-baby. _

They're all having a good laugh about something. Howard's got his arm around the girl, and they are all laughing about something jazzy that Vince couldn't possibly understand. _You pathetic little anti-jazzer._

Vince wraps his dark coat around him and slides down the wall wrapping his arms around himself. This is getting ridiculous.

Vince sits for a long time, staring all around at every source of light he can see. There is the light coming from the houses including Lester's… there is the street lights… there is the headlights of the cars… there is the reflection of the stars in that puddle… there's the stars themselves… there is the moon;

"_**When you are the Moon… you get a lot of people… talkin' an' complainin' 'bout their dreams… errr or their loves… an' they look… up a' me an' go: 'Oooh! Ah, why 'you let this 'appenin' to me?' An'… I look down on 'em an' a'smile an' a say: 'What t'fuck 'you wan' me do abou' it?'"**_

...Yeah, there is the light from the moon. _You are the light._

Even if Vince had been wearing his mirror-ball suit that day, Howard still had no idea how happy Vince had felt when he'd said that. He wonders whether Howard realised how that had sounded once he'd said it… He hadn't tried to take it back if he did. _You soppy tart._

Vince realises he should leave now. The jazz is beginning to radiate out of the building and he's getting the sniffles. _Since when do YOU say 'sniffles'. Or maybe baby's just crying 'cause he's on his own. Fucking baby._

He shakes his head in annoyance. This voice in his head seems to have a personality of its own… _not _a comforting thought right now. Standing up, he takes one more glance into Lester Corncrake's only to see _her _swaying her hips to a much sexier beat that reminds Vince of Chicago. He preferred that kind of jazz, but he's not sure what kind it is. As he walks back he smiles as he remembers watching Chicago for the first time. He'd been reluctant at first when he'd heard the 'j' word, but after Howard reassured him that it was funk and scat free, he'd agreed. He couldn't see it in the cinema or theatre, in case he had a seizure, but they'd rented the DVD and Howard had sat holding his hand with electro on standby just in case it got too much. It was funny how Howard hadn't minded touching him then.

When Vince arrives home, Bollo's out but Naboo is on the sofa slumped forwards over more and more books. Whatever he's worried about must be extremely complicated; these books look about as old as his black magic one, and they're in a strange language that _can't _be from this planet.

--

_The telephone rings and Vince picks it up immediately, listening intently to this strange conversation:_

"_Look, you said you weren't going to disturb him… I know you mean well an' everything but I don't know if he can handle this… What do you mean? …I thought you said you couldn't let us interfere with each other's-…"_

_The conversation is cut off again. Vince finds another note, this time taped to the centre of the middle TV screen:_

"_I'll try to get it to you as soon as possible. Stop being so hard on yourself. And 'jazzer' isn't a word."_

_--_

**Sorry, there was a lot of random stuff in that... Please review!**


	5. Biscuits

**Hi! Sorry I didn't update for a while - been on holiday. I make up for it with a really boring new chapter!!**

--

Vince gets up late the next day. Later than usual, but the unusual thing about this time is that Vince knows nobody has tried to wake him up. _Must have given up. On you. You._

He feels quite good, despite his emotional situation. _You don't have emotions; you're like a beach ball!! _

It's about quarter past twelve when Vince finishes straightening his hair. His fringe is getting quite long now. At first he thinks about just trimming it… but now he wonders if he should do something a little different with him. It. If he should do something different with _it_. _Fucking poofter._

Vince makes his way downstairs to the shop quietly, wanting to spend the day having pleasant conversation with Howard. _You have to _try.

There's no one there. The shop's been shut and Howard's left him a little note:

"**You seemed really tired this morning so we let you sleep in. I've gone shopping; Bollo and Naboo are on shaman business. When you're up please open the shop at about 11. I'm not sure when I'll be back, probably around 1 o'clock." **And there's a little smiley face at the end.

Vince opens the shop, because it's nearly half past twelve and he's got nothing better to do. _Without him._

Nobody comes into the shop for a few minutes. Vince sits reading Cheekbone with his feet propped up on the shop counter as Howard likes to do, as though he's trying to make up for Howard's absence by copying his habits. It isn't working.

He's vaguely aware of someone entering the shop, and doesn't look up until they've found what they're looking for. He tenses. It's the girl.

"Hi Vince, how are you?" Once again her voice doesn't seem to have much emotion, but she _does_ seem to care. She's holding a jazz record. The one of the guy with the enormous face.

"…I'm good thanks," he hesitates, "and you?"

"Great thank you." She sounds it.

Vince gets ready to sell her the record, and she makes as if to hand Vince the record, then stops and puts it in front of him instead.

"I heard you're allergic to this stuff," she says, and she isn't saying it mockingly, in fact she looks rather sorry for him. He almost wishes she doesn't. It makes it harder to dislike her.

"Yeah. It's weird." He's never been so lost for words before. He searches for a word frantically, as though they're floating around his head. He finds a subject to talk about quickly, and the girl looks slightly confused as he randomly reaches out and grabs something invisible. "Yeah, so um. Howard. You and him. Are you… just friends?"

"Oh yes. Even though he's _gorgeous. _But that's the way it is."

Vince's breath catches. _So she thinks he's attractive_. She still has a chance of seducing him; you just have to look at her.

"Didn't quite get round to opening the shop earlier then?" She's got a glint of something in her eye now. It's scaring him. _Baaby._

"…Huh?"

"Howard told me when he wanted the shop open, I came here an hour ago and it wasn't."

As she's placing the record into her satchel, Howard enters the shop, clutching several bags packed with food.

"Hi!" he says grinning happily at the sight of, apparently both of them. However, as he nears them, Vince isn't entirely sure whether the grin is more happy or nervous.

"Hello, tall." She addresses him with a smile.

"Hi Howard," says Vince, chewing his thumb. _It's not like you've been naughty. Or do you want him to think that? Do you like it when he's angry? Ponce._

"Did we get any customers today?" Howard asks, setting the bags down in front of the counter; green light glowing on his face.

Nervously Vince is about to answer, but he's cut off by the girl;

"Nah, everyone around here's been checking out the new statue dedicated to Montgomery Flange, the shop's been open for ages, Vince can be a good worker."

Vince blinks. He'd been expecting her to tell on him. Somehow this is more unsettling.

"Uh, yeah," he agrees halfheartedly.

"Ah well, let's shut it again for now and go upstairs. I've got biscuits; do you want a cup of tea?" Howard moves to pick up the shopping.

"Yes please!" Vince winces as he thinks he sounds a little too enthusiastic, but he really wants to have fun again. His hope fails as he sees the girl helping with the shopping bags. She's coming too.

As she and Howard go upstairs Vince locks the shop up, picks up the last small shopping bag and heads upstairs. _She's _laughing with him about something.

"…yeah and then they'll _know _I got the moves! Ow, chickah chickah!" Howard's saying, and she's laughing. And it's _genuine _laughter.

"Biscuit, Vince?" Howard offers him the plate and Vince takes two; a jammy dodger and a jaffa cake. His favourites.

He finds himself unable to talk as he munches on the biscuits and drinks his tea. Howard and the girl put the rest of the shopping away and talk for a little bit about the jazz club, and it eventually dies down into a comfortable silence.

Vince wants to talk. He wants to make Howard laugh like she does. He used to be able to. Not as much, because he wasn't so into jazz, but…

He wishes he could hate this girl. But she's not doing anything spiteful. She's not trying to rub herself into his face. _Thank GOD._ She's not being smug. She's not trying to take Howard away from him, at the moment at least. In fact she's brought a more comfortable atmosphere into this room than there's been for a long time. But she could still make Howard fall for her. She is surely _perfect _for him. Howard's not exactly trying to be sexy, but he is being slightly flirtatious about the jazz, and she's smiling with that sad look in her eyes again that he just can't place.

Howard begins talking again quietly, about little random things like "They're thinking of knocking down so and so's down the road and so on" when Vince notices something. They've moved into the sitting room now, with Howard sitting with Vince on one sofa and the girl on the other. She's listening to Howard, but out of the corner of her eye she gazes down at one of Naboo's open books. She doesn't do much, but she shifts away from it slightly, as though it's an animal she isn't particularly fond of.

"So," says Howard, making him jump, "have you done anything interesting recently, little man?"

The use of his old nickname is so comforting, so wonderful that Vince forgets all about the girl._ You baby._

"Yeah, well I've been doin' the same old stuff at the Velvet Onion, and the Goth Club and I went into Topshop the other day and bought about fifty million of these genius scarves, you should 'ave seen 'em Howard…" Vince trails off towards the end. Howard's looking at Vince with an expression that Vince is sure is close to adoration. _You've missed this. And it's only a conversation. Not even banter or crimping._

"What were they like, Vince?" he says softly, as though talking too loudly will hurt Vince in some way.

"They…they're, well they're all different colours and some of them have this rainbow effect and you could get loads of them like, half price. How great is this… I mean, that?"

Vince looks away slightly embarrassed by his slip of the tongue and then sees that the girl is standing by the window looking out. He didn't see or hear her get up.

"I've got to go," she says, suddenly alert, "I'll see you tomorrow evening, yeah Howard?" She gives him a small hug and Vince a friendly sort of wave and then rushes off down the stairs.

Just two minutes later Naboo and Bollo appear.

"Oi, you ball-bags why isn't my shop open?" says Naboo, who looks shattered.

"It was for a couple of hours, but everyone's seeing some statue instead," says Howard.

"Ugh. I'm going to bed. Don't wake me up unless it involves the Board of Shaman." Naboo goes into his room. Bollo flops onto the sofa where the girl was sat.

"Alright, Bollo?" Vince tries.

"Yeah, Vince. Naboo got a lot o' stuff to do is all." The cold glint in Bollo's eyes is considerably less today.

Vince gets Bollo a cup of tea and then starts watching the telly. Howard sits close next to him and Vince, as subtly as he possibly can, scoots even closer. _You want him._

Eventually Bollo goes to bed, too. Howard and Vince are alone. Together.

--

**Yeah, not such a great chapter, but I'll make up for it later. Please R & R! X**


	6. Memories

**Another not so interesting chapter!! Sorry.**

--

Just as the evening is getting like old times, the phone rings. It's not a nice sound, compared with the laughter of Howard and Vince, and the gentle hum of the telly. Even less pleasant is the voice of one of Vince's 'friends'. This friend is called Dave. Vince doesn't know what his surname is. _Only met him last week._

"Oi mate! Get down 'ere! We're avin' a right bash at the Dark Club…" _Blah, blah, blah._

It's all just a load of noise. A bloke who's already pissed shouting down the phone about getting even more pissed. To do funky fashionable pissy things that pissed people do. It's a load of bollocks. But Vince is seduced. And he goes. _Fucked that up._

--

Vince really doesn't know why he's so stupid. He's not entirely sure if it's genetic… he knows his parents are dead, but he never heard whether it was their stupidity that was their downfall. He doesn't even know whether the 'car crash' was murder, suicide, or just one of those accidents that happens quickly, with no drama, mystery or foreshadowing surrounding it. Or whether it happened at all. Vince isn't really bothered by it. It's not because he's that heartless, but he was brought up by Brian Ferry! Brian Ferry was the person who'd brought him up in the jungle. He wasn't quite like a dad, and he'd certainly never called him that, but he'd loved him nonetheless. Brian hadn't liked cars. At all. Vince never asked why. He never asked whether Brian had known his parents or if he'd just found baby Vince in some rubble from the car crash. Howard found Vince… at school. He'd pulled him out of it, though. Out of the rubble. Given him something better. _GCSE's aren't important._

Of course they don't work at the zoo anymore. He couldn't quite remember what had happened about that… but working in the shop is fine. Even if Howard does most of the work. Even if he isn't quite a rock and roll star. Vince sometimes wonders what would have happened if he hadn't gone to work with Howard at the zoo. Well, that would never had happened, unless he'd never met Howard. So Vince wonders what would have happened if he'd never met Howard. Would he be smarter? More successful? More famous? Still be the sex-bomb he is now? It's an idea he doesn't like, because Howard pretty much made his life. Even as a child. He did have the 'older and wiser' thing about him, but somehow not in a parental way. Not even in an older brother way, either. They enjoyed each other's company too much for that.

It wasn't always Howard chasing after Vince. Not that he does much chasing, though he definitely craves Vince's attention… well he did… about seven weeks ago. At school Vince, the popular, baby-faced kid that he was (and still pretty much _is_) clung onto Howard the first time he laid eyes upon him. Howard, clearly not used to other children even noticing him, let alone attempting friendship with him, had been very wary at first. His family have always been a kind bunch, but rather quiet and extremely domestic. Howard has an older sister anda younger brother, but they are not particularly close.

You can just picture the young moustached Howard Moon standing stiffly in the centre of a playground, in his beige jumper and khaki shorts, whilst this tiny little blue-eyed, colourful, slightly chubby Vince Noir zoomed around him chattering away about goodness knows what and some jelly babies.

--

Howard still remembers _a lot_ about meeting Vince. He can still hear the squeaky little cockney voice, smell the sweets on his breath, see the huge blue eyes; "Howard? What 'you doin' Howard? Can I see? 'You drawin'? What you drawin'? I paint Howard! I'm gonna be an artist. And a rock star… and a model and an actor and a superhero and…"

Vince's hair had been styled even then… one would think that allowing such a tiny child to have their hair styled and dyed would be spoiling them… but it hadn't seemed wrong… and Vince lived in the jungle. It was probably quite normal for it to be dyed there. When they'd first met, Vince's hair had been shorter, the natural light brown shade, but with a few highlights, and spiked up, but not the greasy, crunchy sort of spikes that most young teenage boys have, been these soft, clean almost bouncy spikes that shone in the sunlight.

Vince had been just a little chubby then too, but just in the average baby, puppy-fat way. Nothing that would suggest he was anything but a little boy. Like being particularly thin. That's just the thing with Vince. No matter what he wears or how he acts, Howard just can't see him as anything _but _a man. But even if he does wear women's clothes, they just don't look wrong on him. Howard supposes that people assume Vince is a woman because it's just easier than looking really closely at someone. Everyone's shallow when it comes to Vince. Even so, back at school a few people had mistaken Vince for a girl. Few of the adults but many of the other little boys, often attempting to get Vince's attention onto themselves, as apposed to Howard, and probably also why Howard was so unpopular at school. _What you doin' Howard?_

He'd been so fascinated by him. If Howard was trying to do the exact same school work as Vince, he'd still find a small hand patting him on the shoulder; "What you doin' Howard?"

"The same thing as you, Vince," he'd say, coldly.

"But you do it differently to me Howard, how'd you do that?"

It was perhaps here that Howard developed his "don't touch me" business from. He's never been particularly fond of _anyone_ touching him. He remembers he'd particularly hated his siblings initiating any kind of physical contact. His parent's weren't unaffectionate… it was just how Howard had turned out.

With his family, if they touched him he'd react quite sharply; throwing their hands off and scratching at his skin as though it repulsed him. This reaction got worse as a teenager, but steadily decreased as he began to grow into an adult.

With Vince, he hadn't disliked Vince's touch, but he just couldn't understand why Vince liked it so. He'd never thrown off Vince's hands. He'd snapped at first, "Don't touch me" and when Vince had obeyed Howard finally started to show some interest in the small boy. It wasn't at all about controlling Vince. It was really afterwards, when Vince's eyes began shine way more than was normal, and his bottom lip wobbled. Howard had immediately apologised and reassured him that it wasn't that he disgusted him in any way. It wasn't like when Howard had to virtually smother his younger brother to stop him crying getting him into trouble. It was the way Vince had calmed down almost instantly and had this continuous trust for him. Vince may often be a little tit-box, but during their time at school Vince had never told on Howard, or cried and gotten Howard into trouble. Vince never cries that much at all. For which Howard is eternally grateful.

It was then Howard took Vince under his wing. He'd invite him back to his house, play with him, talk to him. He remembers the first time they came close to a crimp. One of the songs from their kid's programs, and it turned out they had something more in common; they could sing in sync almost immediately.

But above all things, Howard didn't treat Vince like everyone else did. Sure, he was protective, softer and even slightly possessive of Vince, but he still refused to spoil Vince with praise and affection. Perhaps the reason Vince had sought it so much. Howard sometimes gave him praise. And would put a hand on his shoulder, which then stemmed into a sort of "I can touch you but you can't touch me" policy, which then turned into "you can touch my shoulder sometimes" and eventually the only place he really minded Vince touching him was around the centre of his chest, unfortunately where Vince seemed to want to touch the most. Howard only realised recently that since the very first time he'd met Vince, he'd been perfectly comfortable sitting close to him, with their arms and legs touching. It just always seemed fine.

Howard stretches out on the sofa, missing the warmth that was his friends body and thinks about the art lessons. Baby Vince with paint all over him and his masterpiece in his hand a big grin on his face.

"What's that supposed to be?"

"S'you Howard!"

"Cheers."

--

**Sorry, no action, but just because I enjoy character development. Because Howard's age is such a mystery, I didn't really specify what year they're in or anything. Also, I quite like the idea that Howard's always been older than he really is. So is born cold sarcastic baby Howard. And baby Vince, well that's just a difficult one, given that in the first series Vince IS pretty much a baby, and by the third series, (I hate to say this) he's stemmed into a bit of an immature prick. But I still love him to pieces. Please R & R.**


	7. Hungover

**Hey, sorry I was away for a while, but I think this chapter's the longest yet, so that'll sort of make up for it. Apologies for the lack of plot but it's aaaaaall relevant.**

--

_Somehow, Vince knew he would be having the dream tonight. He isn't surprised. Not after deserting Howard again. The note is on the little table again, and the writing's messy and dark, as though the person had pressed down very hard with the pen;_

"_And you were doing so well."_

_He reaches under the sofa. Pulls out the little pink box. He opens it. It's empty. They've been taken… by _them_._

"No!_" he says, "_Give 'em back!_"_

_Then he sees the note, taped underneath the lid of the box;_

"_I don't think so."_

Vince wakes up with a screaming hangover. And this time it really seems as though someone's screaming, right inside his head. His brain cell is screeching at him, "You fuckin' ball-bag! I can't take much more o' this!"

If his brain cell walks out on him he really will be a beach ball. He runs to the bathroom with "sorry…sorry…sorry" beating in his head. Sorry to brain cell. Sorry to Vince. Sorry to Howard. Sorry to Bollo. Sorry to Naboo. Sorry to his 'friends'. Sorry to _them_.

_It's not going to be enough anymore._

He's sick three times; in too much pain to focus on anything but this. Cleaning himself out. Hands gripping the bowl. Stopping to rest his head against cold tiles. It's soothing. _What did you do last night, Vince? You got pissed. Well done._

He sits next to the toilet when he's finished, still with his head against the cold tiles, shifting slightly when the tiles have warmed, wrapping his arms around himself and rocking gently. _Baby._

Nothing terribly interesting happened last night. They went to the club, got pissed, sang songs with the lyrics replaced with obscenities and then got pissed some more.

There's no way he'll be on the cover of Cheekbone after last night. Perhaps in the middle of the magazine, with an unattractive photograph of him stumbling out of some club; makeup all over his face, hanging off some random girl in a similar state, swearing at random passers by to make himself feel better.

He remembers the dream and shivers. He wonders what all of this means. The memories stored in the pink box have been taken by them, but he still remembers the memories. Perhaps in time he'll forget and they'll deny him to find them again? Or maybe they would replace the good memories with bad ones; destroying the best moments of his life or removing them from his brain altogether, so that he had no recollection of ever not feeling guilt, sadness or hate.

He understands that this could be some sort of punishment for deserting Howard again, but now he knows he's done wrong he just can't think of how to say he is sorry. Should he say sorry to Howard? But of course, if he just apologizes to Howard for leaving him last night, what about all the times before, when he'd had so many opportunities to remain by Howard's side, just using his own presence to show how much he appreciates Howard's? Saying sorry once won't do the trick, and if he gives a long speech, apologizing for every single time he left, he will get confused, straying too far away from fashion terms and he could end up insulting Howard unintentionally, or he could say too much and destroy _everything._ Howard is a very forgiving person, which Vince once mistook for him being a mere pushover, but right now Howard's probably got more power in a situation than he's _ever_ had before. Bollo and Naboo haven't exactly joined Howard's _side,_ (if he has one in the metaphorical sense; for he has at _least_ two, physically) but they have certainly shown their disapproval of Vince's indulgence in late nights, alcohol, fashionable friends and far too casual sex, and they were definitely not on _his_ side.

This girl that claims to just be a 'friend' is not only sexy, but also perfect for Howard, as she's not too similar to him (she radiates confidents despite some definite modesty). She's reintroduced his enthusiasm for jazz, and he isn't even trying to share it with Vince anymore. It wasn't the jazz Vince ever wanted to know about, it was that it was one of those things that made Howard happy, and the fact that he wanted to share any kind of happiness with Vince at all, was good enough for the electro-ponce.

All in all, Howard could easily walk out of the Nabootique door without a backward glance.

And Vince just doesn't know what to do. He hasn't had any kind of 'serious' relationship with anyone for years, the longest standing at around a month, and even then there'd been less talk and more sex. There had been affection, but the very awkward kind, as though it had been effort to give another comfort of some kind.

Vince knows enough about emotion to know that he can't just apologize without knowing what he's sorry for. I_t's not enough little man! I need a gesture._

Feelings are frightening when you think about them carefully. They're the reason you have be considerate of others, the reason you have to treasure the good moments, the reason you mustn't waste life, the reason death is painful and threatening, yet natural and peaceful too.

Vince's head starts to hurt even more. Emotions are too much for him right now and he suppresses a sob, and shivers some more. He wishes he was smarter, just so that he could really know what he wants. If he knew more about emotion maybe he'd know what they wanted and why, and maybe he and Howard would be in each others arms right now.

--

Howard and Bollo are working in the shop today. They've given up on Vince, and Naboo is desperately trying to figure out whether this _thing _that's happening is dangerous in anyway.

Vince cleans himself up but remains in his and Howard's room all day, frightened of his thoughts and the emotions that come with them. His mind just isn't used to this.

Much later on, Vince's hangover has finally died down, and he's reading Cheekbone when Naboo enters the room.

"Alright, Vince?" he says, tiredly seating himself on Howard's bed opposite.

"Hey, Naboo what's up?"

"I'm shattered that's what. And I came to tell you that you need to stop goin' out every night, otherwise you're sacked."

"What! No! I'm sorry, Naboo! I just got-..."

"Shut up," Naboo interrupts looking bored, "I'm givin' you a couple more chances, but seriously Vince, this isn't great. I always thought it would be Howard gettin' the sack, and I feel sick to my stomach that I'm gonna say this, but to be honest recently 'e's been nothin' short of a diamond." Naboo pauses and swallows as though he's about to vomit.

Vince swallows and nods, blinking back tears.

"Look, we're all stressed in a way. Howard and you ain't been gettin' on too well, and Bollo and I need to keep checkin' out this retarded disturbance in the universe an' shit, not to mention that for the last three nights I've been 'avin' these weird bloody dreams every time I close my eyes, but we've got to keep it together, Vince. We all 'ave bad times, but you're not even tryin' to help _yourself_. And that's sayin' somethin'…" he trails off towards the end, when he realises Vince is staring at him. "What you lookin' at you ball-bag?"

"What kinds of dreams do you 'ave, Naboo?" Vince's voice is quiet, he sounds scared.

"Just, me bein' in an empty room most days, but it feels sort of like… sort of like there's somethin' in there with me, only I can't see it. They're not bad or nuffin', it's just they repeat themselves over and over again, sometimes every night. Why?"

"Oh, I just…" Vince thinks, hard. Naboo's dream doesn't sound much like his… but it was the repetitiveness that worries him "…you don't think they're to do with this other thing you're worried about?"

Naboo gazes at him for a little bit, and Vince isn't sure if he is thinking or if he's stoned… or both, in which case it will take much longer for Naboo to answer Vince's question.

Suddenly he speaks: "I doubt it. Recurrin' dreams are sort of the same as nightmares; they can appear if you're feelin' guilty or scared about somethin', even if it's got nothin' to do with what you're worried about. I've not come across recurring dreams with a straight forward meanin'. Why?"

Vince's mouth is very dry all of a sudden, "Because I've been havin' these weird dreams for ages… like, they sort of make sense… what's the word again? …Logic. They're logical in some ways… oh my God. Is it _you_?"

"Is it me, what?" Naboo's frowning now, and Vince is looking excited and angry.

"Is it you makin' me 'ave these dreams? I mean, you've done it before, when Howard had to fight that kangaroo, and you blew that magic dust in me face an' I had that dream with all the circles and stuff. It's you! It must be!"

"Vince-…" Naboo starts but is interrupted. Vince kneels up on the bed.

"All this time, I was thinkin' I'd gone mad, or I was bein' haunted or somethin', so it must be you! You're tryin' to… what are you tryin' to do to me?" Vince feels doubt crawling up him again. _Gonna get inside ya, boy!_

Naboo coughs in a business like manner and stands up, which is not very noticeable given his stature. "Sorry Vince, but it's not me causin' any of the dreams in your already warped little brain. Maybe you should go an' see a psychiatrist? I don't really 'ave time to talk about this. Maybe you should tell Howard; that would give you two somethin' to talk about."

"But I don't think I can, 'cause they're about-…" Naboo shuts the door with a snap.

Vince droops and curls up into a ball on his bed. Of course it isn't Naboo; there is no clumsiness, nothing he can quite identify as magic, and _they_ had had to ask who knew about _that_ _Thursday night_. What had Naboo said he'd dreamt about? _An empty room, but there's something there. _Something, not _someone_.

It doesn't sound much like his dreams, so apparently Naboo has no logic to them. _Logic... you like that word._

_The dream again, and all the televisions are switched off. The new door that looks like it's made for him seems to be melting back into the wall, as though it is dying because nobody is caring for it. The room is very dark, and Vince _feels_, he actually _feels _numb, as though he's very, very cold. On the table, the phone is gone, but there is a note:_

"_Somebody else was there that night."_

_--_

**Dun dun DUN! Hope that was okay. Please R&R.**


	8. Four And Someone Else

**Hello. I'm so sorry I've been away for so long. I've been given some inspiration, and therefore motivation to get this fic on the go again. **

**It's a very short chapter I'm afraid, but it's relevant. :D**

--

The pale blue eyes, that are usually wide and observant, are now squeezed tight shut with thought. There is a frown all over the pale face; the struggle to think, to _remember _is painful.

"Come on now, _think._ Where was it? The pretty lady dropped it, but somebody picked it up."

"_**Uuhhhh da shiny fing was… ehhh it was… it was…"**_

The small human's eyes are doing something similar to the Moon's, except theirs are shut in despair and frustration.

"I've been here for seven hours now. I'd really appreciate it if you gave me a name."

"_**Oooooh! Ehh you fink seven hours izza long time? Ah'm the Moon! An' ah bin 'ere since… ah wazza part o' de Earth planet, an' den de Earth… 'e ad a biggaface, an' e' spoke to me.. but then all de liddle people started taken over… an' they cover the whoooooooooooole of 'is face…ehhh wait!"**_

The person stops in their tracks.

"Yes?"

"_**The green man knows."**_

The person sighs; "I suppose it's worth the risk."

--

Vince doesn't know what to do. This rarely ever happens because there is always something to do. Even if it isn't related to a problem, Vince will sit down to do his hair, or his makeup… maybe fix or alter some clothing...

Vince sits down in front of the mirror. He looks at his hair. It doesn't look bad. But it doesn't look amazing either. His mind isn't working the way it usually does. He can't think of anything constructive or productive to do. For now, he sits and assesses how his hair is sitting today.

Eventually, he thinks about his situation.

Howard. Bollo. Naboo. All in the same room. Thursday night. But there was someone else… who is apparently important. _Who?_

Whenever he mentions that night to the others, there is awkwardness, coldness and confusion.

Vince knows he'd been incredibly drunk. _That much is obvious._

Bollo and Naboo had been stoned. Howard…

Howard, Howard, Howard…

What is this thing with Howard?

When Howard enters the room, Vince gets all jittery. Before all this had started he'd got a similar feeling, but he seemed to channel it into anger or humour.

These feelings scare the hell out of him. He fancies Howard; _that_ is for certain. _But what if they have something and Vince screws up?_ What if it's lost already? What if he gets the urge to cheat? Gets embarrassed at having something with Howard and hurt him even more? What if Howard develops more than a crush? What if _he_ does?

_What if you have already?_

--

Dead, skeletal trees are silhouetted against the burning sky; blood red with bright purple lightning striking the deep blue soil at random, leaving smoking black mounds in its wake. The thunder follows seconds later, sounding like a small child going insane on a drum kit.

Far on top of a hill, a sheep is struck by lightning, and its coat promptly falls off it. The grey-skinned animal sighs in annoyance, picks up the wool and slips it back on like a jumper. Though unfazed by the mayhem around him, he rushes off on his hind legs when a very small whistling noise echoes across the hills, swiftly followed by footsteps.

The figure stands on top of the hill and looks about. They raise their hands and trace the movements of the lightning. Their eyes black, they scan the surrounding hills, and then come to rest on the sheep, which is now leaning against a stump far below, watching them with interest and smoking a pipe.

Moving just a few metres forward, the person pushes their hair out of their face and says: "Excuse me; there was a shop around here. Can you tell me where it is?" Their voice echoes; there is no need to shout.

The sheep bleats; great puffs of grey smoke coming out of his ears then replies: "If you go between those two hills," he indicates two hills that looks rather like a pair of breasts, "...there's an oasis. Really clear water, but you can't miss it. Wait for the sun to touch where those trees stand, then that place will appear. But I wouldn't advise you go in. The owner's not particularly hospitable." The sheep shifts in his jumper uncomfortably.

--

Howard. Bollo. Naboo.

Howard, Bollo, Naboo.

Howard, Bollo, Naboo and Vince.

Vince.

Naboo.

Bollo.

Howard.

Howard, Howard, Howard and Howard.

Four of them. In one place. Thursday night. And someone else.

--

From the inside, the shop looks like a nightmarish version of the Nabootique. And Naboo's Nik-Naks is creepy enough to begin with.

Jars full of body parts from all kinds of creatures are on display. The skin of a yeti hangs miserably up on the door of an old wardrobe. There are instruments of torture draped with jewels, perhaps they're meant to be traps.

Outside the sky still glows red, but the sun is setting.

_They_ are inside the shop. _They_ stand eyeing up the jewellery. A shadow falls over the figure.

She looks up.

--

**Uh-oh. Please review, I'd appreciate it muchly. Sorry this chapter kind of sucked. XXX**


	9. Perhaps, Might And Maybe

**Hey! Thanks to my reviewers, and anyone who's stuck around for this long. Another rather pathetic little chapter for you, but stuff happens!**

--

"'Ere, girl," the voice says, "what's a pretty lil' thing like you doin' in a Gawd forsaken place like this?"

The man, if he is a man, is tall and thin, but there's a terrifying strength given away in the leering eyes in his green face. One eye is on the girl's face, studying and intimidating. The other, framed by a large polo mint, is twisted down to look at her chest.

His question demands an answer; no choices.

The girl stares at him for a couple more seconds, and then opens her mouth; "I took something from here a couple of weeks back, only I didn't pay for it," she says calmly. There is absolutely no worry in her voice whatsoever.

The Hitcher cackles; "Oooh, m'dear! I fink if you'd 'ave taken summit off me I'd 'ave noticed! And believe me, it'd been the last thing you'd 'ave done."

"Then you overestimate yourself," the girl flicks her blond hair impatiently, "I managed to take this item quite easily. It was on a day when one of your men was here actually," She's looking at her nails now, "I'm not particularly easy to trace, I don't blame you for not noticing. I wasn't on this planet for much longer."

The Hitcher's smile only widens to show his rotting teeth. He clicks his fingers.

The door slams shut.

"Girl, y'don't know what you're gettin' yeself into," His voice goes low, and the smile leaves his mouth but not his eyes, "And you really, really shouldn' 'ave come alone my darlin'."

--

The pain arrives very, very suddenly. It's not expected. It's not invited. It's definitely _not _welcome.

Vince doesn't feel himself hit the floor. He feels more like he's been turned upside down. He clutches his head and screams.

"Vince! Jesus, Vince!"

Inside his mind, it feels as though someone is drilling away… you can't feel pain in your brain? _I think I'll have to disagree with that. Fuck._

Before too long, before the frantic arms trying to stop him twisting and flailing about can lift him up, he passes out. _Blackness. Bliss._

--

"'Ye know wha' I do ta lil' girls like yeself? I fuckin' rape 'em sweetheart! Ohhhh yes!! Come an' get 'em I do, an' when I get 'em, I RAPE 'em!"

The Hitcher dramatically swings his arms about, which extend to a slightly impossible length. He just stands there, leering at the girl.

"Well, I wonder if you'd rape the previous owner of this."

The girl reaches into her breast pocket, and pulls out a golden bracelet. The half moon shape glints wickedly in the shop.

The Hitcher's eyes widen; "Well whadd'ya know?! Ye fuckin' **did** steal from me, gal!"

He makes to grab her, but stops. His eyes go very, very wide. He brings his long green fingers up to his forehead. Backing away, he doesn't stop until he falls heavily into an old armchair.

He looks up at her; "Jesus girl, wha' the 'ell are you?"

"Something a little different," she twists her finger around a strand of blond hair, "But I'm sure you've crossed paths with one of my people before. You _have_ got a bit of a reputation."

--

Naboo sighs, putting down the stethoscope and pulling the blankets back up over Vince's chest.

"Well? What's wrong with him?" Howard looks at the shaman expectantly.

Naboo sends a scathing look in Howard's direction then says, after a long pause: "Dunno."

"What do you mean? You _never_ just 'dunno'!"

"Shut up, idiot," says Bollo, slipping a hot water bottle under Vince's blankets.

"Well whadd'ya _want_ me to do?! Do you need me to be shrunk down again? I'll do it! Please just tell me his symptoms or something." Howard looks absolutely devastated.

"Well, 'e's got a couple of symptoms like tha' of an allergic reaction. Oddly enough, 'e's sweatin' as though there's some jazz nearby." Naboo shakes his head in puzzlement.

"You bin gettin' jazz too near precious Vince?" Bollo asks, looking rather threatening.

"No!! I've been really careful, especially since the Weather Report incident. All the records are either in the shop display or safely locked in organised cabinets under my bed, sir."

Bollo narrows his eyes; "You ain't said that in weeks."

"What haven't-…"

"Guys! Look, I 'ave a feeling this is something to do with the disturbances that've been goin' on!"

"Why? He's passed out; it might just be a reaction to something!"

"Look." Naboo lifts the lid of one of Vince's eyes.

The iris is completely black, and there is no movement.

Howard freezes. "Oh my God…"

"Whadda hell is that?" asks Bollo.

"This is extreme magic. Not from 'ere, that's for sure. We need 'elp. Vince is trapped inside 'is own mind."

--

**Dun dun DUN. Yeah, so I'm really sorry if I wrote the Hitcher REALLY badly. It's not easy. I know next to nothing about cockney slang so...**

**Cheers!**


	10. The Bracelet

**Hey! New chapter! I'm hoping to finish this for Christmas, because that does seem the sensible thing to do.**

--

The bracelet glints wickedly in the dark of the shop. Both of the Hitcher's eyes are fixed on it. He clears his throat; "Are you tryin' to get me to 'urt someone, girl?"

The girl smiled, and plays around with the bracelet; dangling it in front of the Hitcher's eyes as she might with a baby or a cat.

"No," she says, "I would like to know whether you know whose bracelet this is."

The Hitcher looks confused, though it's rather difficult to tell with a face like his, "Now 'ang on a sec, girl. Do you know 'ose it is?"

The girl nods, and swings the bracelet around her fingers, as though it is a gun, and she's the cowboy in some old western movie.

The Hitcher starts laughing, and stands up. "Then what the bloody 'ell are you askin' me for? Wha' is this, some kind of poncey game?!"

"Well, I'll tell you what it is," the girl lights up a cigar, and takes a seat on an old desk. At first the Hitcher looks as though he's going to protest at this, but he's interrupted; "This is a perfectly ordinary piece of jewellery… upon first glance… but if you're like me, then something just as simple as a golden bracelet can take you far away… to the owner… or the scene of a crime that happened close to it…" the girl speaks very slowly, and pauses every now and then to take a drag of her cigar. She offers the Hitcher one, and he accepts.

"You see, I'm slap bang in the middle of the owner's scenario right now… or one of them. But I've only just figured out that this bracelet is far more important than I thought before… Before I was merely going to keep it because it took me to the owner in the first place, and it's best to hang onto these things… they help me… connect with the person…" she brought her fingers up to her forehead, then gestured toward the Hitcher's.

The room is now a haze of smoke from the cigars. The Hitcher's eyes glint green, and her eyes just look like two black holes in her head. She's an odd sight; odder than the bright green man opposite. She sits upright, cigar in her left hand, and the bracelet swinging and glinting in her right.

"But, what I discovered, is that apparently, the owner does not recognise this…" she's analysing the information as she goes through it, "… now that suggests it's not theirs after all… but _I know it's his…_" she hisses that last little bit.

The Hitcher chuckles at her anger; "You ain't as confident as you make out, girl."

The girl throws him a deadly look.

--

"Naboo?"

Naboo looks up from the phone. Howard stops. Naboo is beginning to look his age.

"Wha' is it, Howard?"

"Look, I need to talk to you. It's about… well I think I might know something about Vince."

Howard sits himself down opposite the shaman, looking rather nervous.

"Right."

"Could he be having a Slumber attack?"

"Get out."

"No! It's not a joke, sir!"

"Wha' is it then, Howard? You're not 'elpin' Vince by just throwin' stuff in to make yourself look more clever."

"I'm not! Look, have you ever heard of the Slumber people? They're a race."

"No… where are you gettin' this from? It's more like Vince to look for answers in Nursery Rhyme books."

"No. You know my friend?"

"Corncrake? Shit, tha' explains it-…"

"NO! My other one, the girl, you haven't met yet?"

Naboo sighs "Yeah?"

"Well… okay… about three weeks ago, I started having… really weird dreams. Like, not even the kind where you know it's to do with guilt, these were just… well, weird. They... were repetitive, and though I knew they were dreams, they were quite real, and… they were so…logical."

Naboo, who has been ticking off random names on a guest list, looks up. Wasn't that what Vince had said about _his _dreams? _**Not sure… might 'ave been stoned.**_

"Go on," he whispers.

Howard takes a deep breath; "Basically, I kept seeing everything about my life, like memories and stuff… it was all set out like a lecture or class, you know? All these empty desks, and then a projector showing all this stuff on the whiteboard. It was showing… all the worst things I've ever done. And these are real memories, not ones I made up, sir."

"Howard-…" Naboo starts.

"And then my friend… I remember I met her, I was a bit drunk… couldn't remember how I got there but I met my friend at the pub. She seemed alright but… after a few days when I'd managed to speak to her more about myself, the dreams stopped, and she told me about these people…"

"Howard, I think I-…"

"I told her about the dreams… and she was saying how she was once haunted by these people who live to punish. Or seek out justice. She said that they get inside your head, and they can drive you insane with remorse if they want to. She said that it had gone wrong though, because that's only for really extreme cases, like if you murder or torture people for fun kind of thing. She said I didn't deserve it, and someone had tampered with the rules of the Slumber people, because it didn't make sense that they'd gone for me." Howard stops, goes to the kitchen and gets a glass of water. He returns, takes a sip, and continues: "I didn't know what to make of it. I did think she might be off her nut, but…"

"Wha' is it, Howard?" Naboo says rather darkly for the third time that night.

--

The girl slips the bracelet back onto her own wrist. She seems to quite fancy it for herself, regardless of what she says about _needing _it.

"I spent about seven hours… trying to get information out of that idiotic Moon. Now, he hasn't given me a name… but he did prove that the bracelet belongs to who I think it does."

"Right." The Hitcher is leaning forward; he's interested now… there's something important about this bracelet… might be worth something.

"I had assumed that you'd found the bracelet somewhere, and when the Moon revealed the owner had dropped the bracelet, I instantly thought I was right… until the Moon revealed that you didn't."

"Hah! You fink I'd put somethin' in me shop I'd just _found? _Come on, girl! I don't find things, I nick 'em! If something's on the floor, it's more likely to be cheap since no one's taken care of it, and when I bend down too far… I 'urt me back. Besides, it's far more fun nickin' fings."

"So you did steal it from someone," says the girl. She's getting close to her answer.

"Tha's right, love."

"Who did you steal it from? It wasn't a pretty, thin man, was it? Could have easily been mistaken for a woman? Fantastic hair?"

"No… I didn't take it from 'im, but I fink I've met your pretty man-lady, in't tha' a funny thing?"

"Now, I want you to be one-hundred percent honest with me," the girl leans forward, unblinking, "who was the person you stole it from? What did he look like? And I advise you tell the truth… I will be paying you another visit if I find out you've lied to me."

The Hitcher smiles, revealing rotting, crooked teeth; "That fat bloke. The retard in the blue safari suit."

--

**Hello again! Thanks to all my reviewers. I apologize for the amount of times I used the word 'retard' but... it's what the Boosh does, so...**

**Please review, I don't know how many more chapters I'm going to do, but I WILL finish this soon! XXXX**


End file.
